Ten Years Gone
by blue shine
Summary: When a death in a rural Jersey town appears linked to poltergeist activity, Sam and Dean find themselves investigating the mystery surrounding a local child's disappearance—and headed down a path that could tear them apart forever.


**Summary: **When a death in a rural Jersey town appears linked to poltergeist activity, Sam and Dean find themselves investigating the mystery surrounding a local child's disappearance—and headed down a path that could tear them apart forever.

**Disclaimer:** I own not one sliver of the amazing awesomeness that is Supernatural... yeah, it sucks.

I also do not own/have not written any of the lyrics or quotes which may appear as credited within this story; intended usage is merely to complement narrative and thematic elements of my original work.

**A/N:** For a long time I couldn't figure out what kind of story to write for Supernatural—alls I knew was that I wanted to. ;) I did fool around with one scene between Sam and Dean for weeks on end (you will eventually come across it as the one exploring Sam's fear of death), but had nothing to go along with it. The inspiration for what follows stems from a real case I was vaguely familiar with (and haunted by) as a child; none of this relates apart from the fact a boy disappeared from his New Jersey hometown in 1991 and there has been no trace of him since. I'd like to dedicate this story to that boy and the family and friends who surely miss him to this day.

In terms of context/timing, certain elements—the summer setting, for one—are not going to fit within Supernatural's established narrative, but for general mytharc purposes I've decided to set this right after Hunted, as certain events from that episode are addressed while most issues arising from Playthings and beyond are not.

Oh, and just one additional caveat: any of my medically trained readers will surely find some hilarity involving at least one of the lovely Winchesters further on down the road (ha, I guarantee!)—please excuse my highly ignorant ass in advance.

All right, now that _that_'s all out of the way, thanks for reading... I hope you enjoy. :)

* * *

**I: Losses**

* * *

_"Long as I'm around, nothing bad is gonna happen to you."_

_~ Dean_

Atlantic City, New Jersey

* * *

"We should probably head out soon, huh?"

"Hang on."

Sam Winchester cast a bored glance in the direction of the tiny octogenarian two seats over, then back at his brother. Out of all the slot machines Dean had chosen a Titanic-themed one for some reason, and with every spin of the reels a little nautical tune sounded. Sometimes a steam whistle, always the tune.

"Come on, Titanic... oh, man! See how that fucker lined up below the pay line?" Dean pointed, his eyes never leaving the screen. The light from the display cast a whitish glow on his face, making his focused stare look even more insane than it already did.

"Yeah, that's how they get you," Sam said, stifling a yawn. "Dean. Dean?"

"I said hang on!"

"Dude, you have a better chance of meeting Captain Smith in the bathroom tonight than you do of lining that shit up. Come on. Before you throw more of our money down the tubes."

"Hey, I'm not the jinx who broke our streak at the roulette table over there," Dean replied, pressing the BET MAX button yet again.

Sam gave their glittering and chiming surroundings another idle survey. Funny how one room could contain so much human desperation.

"Right. Well, sometimes you just gotta know when to cut your losses."

"Need another beer there?"

Dean's eyes left the hopelessly trisected boat and lit on the waitress who'd been taking care of him for the last hour. He raised the near-empty bottle sitting in front of him, the dimples around his lips stretching as he gave her a downturned smile.

"Another beer would make my life."

"What about you," the girl asked Sam. "Change your mind?"

"Oh, no—I'm good. Thanks."

The waitress moved away and Dean gave his brother a look before turning back to the screen.

"Free drinks, man, gotta love."

"Yeah. But see the more sober I am and the less sober _you_ are, it'll be that much easier to haul your ass out of here the minute I decide I've had enough of our—'Gamble On and Have A Drink On Me' fest," Sam said, remembering the name Dean had given to their planned activities earlier in the day.

"Yeah, yeah..." Dean gave a mild smile in the light of his machine. "Just trying to look out for my little brother, you know, show him a good time."

Sam shook his head. "What would I ever do without you."

"Die." Dean's eyes roamed the screen in front of him. "Son of a bitch," he murmured distantly at yet another failed result. He reached for his Heineken, an air of resignation lifting his features.

"I'm all wrong for this circuit, anyway. It's always old people who win these big jackpots, you ever notice that?"

Watching as Dean polished off the last of his beer, Sam saw the octogenarian peering over at them. Dean caught the direction of his eyes and turned, meeting the sight of the diminutive woman for himself.

"As it should be," he appended, tipping his bottle to her while unloading another grin, this one with some wattage. "I know I'll be at Gammy's side the day she brings it home for our family."

The woman's eyes were reproving as she turned back to the screen in front of her, but from where he sat Sam thought he saw them twinkle in a split second of grudging amusement. Dean, meanwhile, was looking at Sam from beneath his eyebrows, eyes bugged in disbelief.

"Course it had to be the one in the whole joint with good hearing," he muttered under his breath.

Sam shrugged helplessly, thankful for even the slightest distraction. The prospect of Dean leaving this place over his shoulder was starting to look more likely with every passing minute.

"OK," the waitress said, returning with Dean's fresh Heineken. "Another beer to make your life."

"Thank you kindly."

"My pleasure," she winked. "You boys let me know if you need anything else."

Dean watched her as she walked away. "Think she likes us, dude."

"Well, it's like you said—" Sam tried to locate a body with hair that wasn't some shade of gray in their immediate vicinity and came up empty. "Not many people our age this side of the floor."

Dean's pleased expression folded in on itself a bit like Kermit the Frog, and he swiveled back to TITANIC with his beer.

Sam swiped at his forehead. "Not that you shouldn't go for it," he put in, when the slot machine suddenly twinkled out some happy sounds. Sam looked and saw that the triple bars had aligned, sending Dean's nearly dissolved credits spinning up to 126. About thirty bucks.

"Uhhhp? Uhhhp?" Dean said, pointing at the screen, his eyes on Sam now. Sam looked at him and couldn't help but smile back at Dean's shit-eating grin, the eyebrows jumping in triumphant satisfaction. After the drama surrounding their recent run-in with Gordon, it was nice—no, great—to see Dean actually enjoying himself.

Try as he might, Sam just couldn't shake the view he'd had through the exterior of that booby trap of a house: his brother gagged and bound to a chair, the utter helplessness to stop what Gordon had in mind and threat of irrevocable defeat all over his face. Dean went through so goddamned much because of him; it was truly hard to fathom sometimes.

And then the look he had shot Sam in the car, in response to "You can't protect me"—it was a look Sam was all too familiar with growing up beside him, the sort of face Dean used to give behind Dad's back after getting reamed out for something. It was the look of knowing you're licked, but refusing to be OK with it. It's what made Dean Dean.

Sam gave an impressed nod. "Watch out, old people," he said unthinkingly, drawing the eyes of the woman to their right again.

"Patience, my friend, patience," Dean said as though he'd been asked a question, completely oblivious to any death stares in the afterglow of victory. "Maybe the universe does love me."

"Yeah, I don't know if I'd go that far."

Dean took a swig from his beer as he regarded the display a moment longer, the satisfaction still evident on his face. Once the bottle was down he slapped heavy hands onto his thighs, running them down his jeans to rest atop his knees.

"OK, wanna head out?"

Sam frowned. "Uh, sure?"

Dean pressed the CASH OUT button and retrieved his gaming voucher. Lifting the Heineken, he waggled it at Sam. "Can I take this outside, do you know?"

Sam eyed the beer dubiously. "Think that's only in Vegas... few other cities."

Dean smirked, drawing the bottle closer to his lips.

"What?"

"Oh, come on—question of law, not to mention one that happens to involve alcohol? I bet you know exactly where you can and can't have open containers in the Lower 48. Why I asked your ass in the first place."

Sam opened his mouth to qualify his response, but as he watched the few remaining ounces of green-tinged lager bubble and slide down its upturned vessel and into Dean's waiting throat, he realized his brother had successfully laid out one of his charming little 'there's no way to answer this without me making fun of you' traps. Yeah, well fuck that.

"Aaaaahh," Dean exhaled contentedly, wiping his upper lip. Spotting their waitress, he signaled her over.

"All done for the night?" she asked, coming up between them.

"Yeah, afraid so." Dean reached in his back pocket for his wallet. Thumbing out everything but the twenty he still had left, he handed the wad over to her.

"This is for you. Wish it could be more, you know?" He shot TITANIC a rueful look, part disapproval, part acceptance, as one would an incorrigible child.

"Not a problem," the girl replied. "Enjoy the rest of your time in A.C." She smiled at both of them before turning away.

"All right, dude, let's do it." Dean started to head for the nearest voucher redemption machine, but when Sam didn't budge he looked at him from the floor up.

"What?"

Sam motioned towards the waitress with his chin. "You're not gonna get her number?"

Dean turned and let his eyes follow her for a moment. He pursed his lips finally, shook his head. "Nah."

Sam looked down at the suddenly proffered arm.

"I already have my date for the night."

»»««

Dean pocketed his winnings and joined his brother on the broad, carpeted corridor leading outside. Emerging from the casino's insulated mindfuck, where all sense of time evaporates along with so many banknotes, the two were met with rain. And then some.

"Awesome," said Sam, taking in the street before them erupting with thousands of little pulpy blasts. "I knew we should've drove."

"Five blocks?" Dean shook his head beside him from beneath the overhang.

They turned to look at each other at the same time, an understanding reached. Running out into the downpour, they began making some decidedly wet tracks for the El Dorado.

Sam's hooded zip-up yielded little protection as he ran, the rain drenching him from above and splashing from below as thunder crackled and rumbled all around—each flash bringing unwanted thoughts of the man who had appeared on the news the other week after getting struck by lightning. That dude might've gotten lucky, but somehow Sam doubted the same would hold for him were a bolt to come down and hit his big ass of a target.

Finally arriving at the El Dorado, they jogged past the Impala, safe and dry where she sat parked beneath the motel's first floor. The place was hardly Caesar's, but it was on the beach block overlooking the boardwalk and ocean, and in a lifetime's worth of craptacular lodging, that's all they could really ask for. Plus it was kind of nice, in a way, to see some retro defiance in the face of all the corporate glitz.

They hiked the stairs to the first floor and Dean groped for the key, shouldering his way back into the musty comfort and ceiling fan hum of their room and shutting the door after Sam.

"Man," Dean said, giving his head a shake.

"'Man' is right," Sam said. He looked over at Dean and chuckled.

"What?"

"You look like a drowned rat. Who just lost his best friend."

The rain still tracing steady, silent paths down his cheeks, Dean stared back. He gave Sam a quick appraisal of his own and nodded. "Least this rat cuts his damn hair."

Sam self-consciously ran a hand through his own dripping mess, smiling at the floor.

"So what do you think. Another night at least?" Dean extracted himself from his jacket, dumping it over the back of a chair. "Showing was a little poor out there, dude, not gonna lie."

"Yeah, if you want to..." Sam glanced around the room noncommittally. "This place is pretty cool, I guess."

"'Pretty cool, I guess?'" Dean screwed an offended look as he made his way over to the bathroom. "'This place is fucking awesome,' I think was the phrase you were going for there."

"Well, it does beat Peoria," Sam conceded, sitting down on the edge of his bed with a sigh. Having turned up nothing in the search for Ava over the last several weeks, the decision to put Illinois behind them, at least for the time being, had not been an incredibly difficult one.

Switching on the bathroom light, Dean regarded himself in the mirror. He'd gotten some sun out on the beach today; either the freckles that were already there had darkened or more had sprouted up, because they were suddenly a lot more noticeable on his face. That was fine with him, seeing as he'd gotten some favorable reviews with them over the years—at least one girl in semi-recent memory, upon discovering the sprinkling on his nose, had smiled up into his eyes approvingly before going in for a kiss. Dean always thought it a rather peculiar thing to get excited about, but hell. Excited was excited.

The rain outside was already tapering off, and as the fan whirred quietly overhead Sam found himself going over what had happened back at the casino. Dean's willingness to leave with him—arm in arm, no less—pricked at his mind. If he had been genuinely tired that'd be one thing, but the practical enthusiasm behind it all seemed like a cover for something else, almost like Dean didn't want to leave him out of his sight. Maybe because of the whole debacle in Lafayette, with Gordon... could that have been it?

"Can't believe you didn't ask that girl for her number," Sam called out casually. "What's going on with you?"

"Hey, can't a guy want to spend some quality time with his brother?"

Great. Now Sam _knew_ it was about Gordon.

"Sure. 'A guy' can. Not Dean Winchester, though. Not when there's a cute girl involved, anyway." Sam looked at the light from the open doorway as the sounds of splashing water reached his ears.

"Seriously, Dean," he raised his voice over the faucet. "I know the stuff was Gordon was uh—rough, to say the least, but... I don't want you to worry about me, OK?"

The light switched off and Dean re-emerged, blotting his face with a towel. "Sammy," he breathed, the don't-make-me-laugh smile reaching his eyes. "I'm your big brother. Kinda goes with the territory, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah, well..." Sam shook his head, trying to think of something else to say. "I don't want you to."

"Look, Sam: without getting all 'More Than Words' on your ass, I thought Gordon killed you back there. OK? Like, dead. You and me," Dean motioned between the two of them, "no more hanging out. So yeah—maybe I want to keep an eye on you for a while. Gordon could have friends of his onto us for all we know. Better safe than sorry, you know what I mean?"

Suddenly and genuinely touched, Sam beamed in the wake of his older brother's concern. "Yeah."

"Oh, God. Forget it, I take it all back."

"Too late, dude, you totally picked me over a girl."

"Yeah, well the night is young. You start annoying me I might just reverse course." Dean plopped down on the other bed.

"I'm your little brother, kind of goes with the territory," Sam said as he got up and headed to the bathroom himself.

Dean flicked the TV on, which awoke with a low buzz. He began flipping through the channels but was soon interrupted by a bright flash in his peripheral vision.

"Anything good on?" came Sam's voice.

"I don't know, man," Dean said, half turning in Sam's direction as he stepped out onto the balcony. "Think the real show is outside here."

The soft night air carried the heavy scent of low tide and whipped at Dean's face as he stopped at the balcony's ledge, gazing out over the darkened beach. Soundless waves of lightning flickered through the clouds, and the contrast between their flashing silence and the roar of the distant, enshrouded ocean imbued both with an unnatural sort of menace. As he looked on, a strike suddenly burned its fleeting presence over the horizon. With all of the scary shit he'd experienced firsthand over the years, Dean always found it just a bit awesome that something as familiar and certain as Mother Nature still had the ability to floor him.

Sam came up behind Dean and joined his side. The two of them stood there, watching the lightning ripple in currents of peach across the sky. Some of the flashes were very lasting, illuminating the ocean while blackening the clouds in front of them.

"Man," Dean exhaled reverently as another bolt struck down in the far distance, pale orange in color. "Look at that, huh?"

"Yeah. Pretty sweet."

Dean glanced over, a glint in his eye. "Not itchin' to get under your woobie back there?"

"What?"

"You remember," Dean said, turning to face the water once more. "You used to be terrified of thunderstorms." His voice soared to a ridiculous register. "Me no like da ka-booms!"

Sam's lips thinned out of his brother's sight. "Yeah, well I think we've both witnessed enough storms since, I don't know—1988, for you to know that's not true anymore."

"Ahh, just kidding, Sammy. I'm not one to judge; they used to scare the crap out of me when I was little, too."

Another silent branch of lightning cracked the sky above their heads like a giant claw, and Sam watched the surrounding clouds for another minute or two before turning to go back inside.

Dean put his hands on the railing, peering at the pool below their room in the motel courtyard. A rather cheery-looking duck float was drifting across the neon water in the intermittent breeze. Looking up, he saw stars peeking through the clear patches of sky and tried to make out their constellations by filling in the gaps behind the clouds.

"You know Cape May has all those old B&Bs along the beach there, some of them are supposedly haunted," Dean said upon re-entering the room. "Be fun to check out sometime."

"Sure," Sam replied absently, having already given up on the TV and opted for the local paper he'd picked up earlier in the day.

"I don't know about you, but I know I'm content to stay seaside for a while."

"Yeah."

"Maybe it's the whole absurd familiarity with salt we have, you know... it's just soothing somehow, the air down here."

"Mmm."

Dean craned his head to look at what Sam was reading. "Some naked chicks on there or something?"

"Why I'm saving it for you."

Part of a headline below the fold caught Dean's eye, and he snatched the paper out of Sam's hands.

"Dude." Sam looked up as his brother slowly walked away, head bowed.

"Listen to this: 'Det. Sgt. Crowe of Lower Township was found dead inside police headquarters early Sunday evening. While the investigation is ongoing, initial reports state Crowe died from apparent blunt force trauma to the head. According to Sgt. Qualls, who was in the building at the time, Crowe was in his office with the door shut. When he didn't emerge after several calls went unanswered, Qualls went to check on him and made the discovery. There were no signs of forced entry to Crowe's office, but various heavy objects were reportedly found scattered about the floor.'"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Poltergeist?"

"Sounds like a poltergeist," Dean assented.

"A police station, though?"

"Hey, a cop in England just ran into some poltergeist shit in a pub—toilet kept flushing by itself for hours on end. Course that didn't freak him out half as much as the broad who showed up wearing Victorian garb and half a face," Dean smirked.

"Maybe something's happened in the area recently that could have caused this?"

"Maybe. Local news might have something online, check it out."

Sam reached for his laptop across the bed and cracked it open.

"You really wanna dive into another case?" he asked, clicking on one of the first results of his 'lower township nj news' search, the online edition of the _Cape May County Herald_.

"Sure, why not?"

Sam skimmed the page in front of him, the memory of Dean's voice suddenly louder than any of the words he tried to absorb through the screen.

_I've been thinking about this. I think we should just lay low. You know? At least for a while. It'd be safer. And then that way, I can make sure—_

"I don't know. Just seems like sitting on the beach, getting free beers from pretty waitresses agrees with you."

Dean's face was incredulous. "Who would that _not _agree with, Sam."

"Whoa, wait a minute—'Tenth anniversary of local boy's disappearance marked with vigil.'" Sam hunched forward, planting a thumb beneath his lip as he read. "'Family and friends gathered Thursday for a candlelight vigil in commemoration of Jacob Harper, the Lower Township boy who went for a walk one afternoon in the summer of 1997 and never came home. Jacob was 12 years old at the time of his disappearance, leaving those closest to him to wonder what kind of 22-year-old he would be today. Investigators have remained largely stumped over any possible leads for the ten years Jacob has now been missing.'"

Sam read on silently.

"Hmm." Dean said after a minute. "Think the ghost of this kid could be our cop killer?"

"I don't know, maybe."

"Worth checking out, though."

"Sure, if you want."

"I say we play this one straight. Or you know, straight as possible—say we're distinguished, highly capable detectives with a distinguished, highly impressive record of helping out with cases that don't make a lick of sense on the surface. Yes, no?"

Sam's face twisted. "Mmm, maybe... I guess that could work."

"I just don't see how else we're gonna poke around a police station with relative free rein, you know what I mean?"

"No, yeah. You're probably right. It'll be a hard sell no matter what."

Dean nodded, his mind clearly working. "But if they honestly can't explain it, you know, I mean these guys will be looking for answers. They're not gonna just let one of their own fall like that."

"Nope."

Dean's eyebrows lifted just as the corners of his mouth drew into a casual frown. "Guess we're headed to Cape May County."

* * *

**END 1/?**

* * *

Then as it was, then again it will be  
An' though the course may change sometimes  
Rivers always reach the sea

Blind stars of fortune, each have several rays  
On the wings of maybe, downy birds of prey  
Kind of makes me feel sometimes, didn't have to grow  
But as the eagle leaves the nest, it's got so far to go

I'm never gonna leave you  
I'm never gonna leave  
Holdin' on, ten years gone  
Ten years gone, holdin' on, ten years gone

~ led zeppelin


End file.
